Simple and Straightforward
by TrueIllusion82
Summary: This was the same, only different. This time, his filters were firmly in place, because Justin knew that kicking, punching, and destroying wasn't going to fix this. It wasn't going to take away the fact that his lover had cancer.
1. Simple and Straightforward

There were plenty of times when Justin wanted desperately to kick something, punch a wall, or tear off on a path of destruction just to work off some of the stress and frustration he was feeling. It reminded him of the months immediately after the bashing - a time when he felt like all of his filters had gone completely missing and his emotions would run away with him before he had any idea what was going on or what he was doing. He'd find himself doing things like tearing apart his bedroom, throwing his mother into the bedpost, and ripping drawings off the wall - drawings he might never be able to reproduce. Spitting venomous, hate-filled words fueled by alcohol and drugs at a gobsmacked Brian who had just spent several thousand dollars on a state-of-the-art computer in an effort to help make it easier for Justin to do what he loved: creating art.

This was the same, only different.

This time, his filters were firmly in place, because Justin knew that kicking, punching, and destroying wasn't going to fix this. It wasn't going to take away the fact that his lover had cancer. It would only end up making Brian feel more guilty and bitter than it seemed he already did over what little bit he was allowing Justin to take care of him, and it would only make Justin feel worse for making him feel that way.

Instead, Justin tried to sit through art history class, even though his mind was anywhere except thinking about old paintings that hung in museums. He was preoccupied with wondering what Brian was doing. How Brian was feeling. Why the fuck he wouldn't just let Justin come with him to his radiation therapy appointments.

"I'll be fine," Brian had insisted. "I went to three whole treatments by myself before you ever came back to make me eat soup. I'm a big boy. I can manage myself."

Fine. So sue Justin for trying to be helpful - to lessen the burden of the mundane, everyday bullshit like driving back and forth from the oncologist's office.

When the class finally let out - thank god, because he had no idea what had been discussed anyhow and his notebook was mostly blank - Justin walked to the bus stop on the edge of campus to catch a ride back to the loft. He wasn't technically living there right now, but he kind of was, and he knew he would be as long as it looked like Brian needed him.

Of course, Brian would never admit that, so Justin would have to guess, and try to walk the tightrope of helping without being too helpful, of showing compassion without making Brian feel too vulnerable. That last one was the kicker - a formidable challenge even with a healthy Brian, much less the weak-and-ill-against-his-will version who should already be home in bed if Justin's calculations were correct.

Justin boarded the bus, found a seat, and sighed as he leaned his head against the window. He really hoped today wouldn't be one of the days that Brian would try to push through an afternoon meeting at Kinnetik. He pulled his cell phone out of his messenger bag and looked at the small display on the outside - no missed calls from Ted, so that was a good sign.

He let his eyes drift closed for a few minutes, lulled by the soft rocking motion of the bus as it ambled through the city streets. He was so tired that he barely reopened them in time to pull the cord for the stop at the corner of Fuller and Tremont.

The night before had been a long one - Brian had some kind of a nightmare and Justin woke up around 2 a.m. to his partner growling something unintelligible in his sleep before shoving Justin roughly in the shoulder. Then he woke up again at 4 a.m., this time to a conscious Brian grunting with pain as he tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position. Justin knew that every part of Brian's body ached, so even though he was annoyed with the lack of sleep, he had simply reached over to gently wrap an arm around Brian's chest and pull their bodies closer together, in a simple gesture of comfort. Brian didn't pull away.

Justin was too tired to climb the stairs, so he patiently waited for the elevator to hum its way to the top floor, shifting his messenger bag, which was heavy with textbooks, on his shoulder and trying to think of what he was going to do for his final project in art history class. He probably would have more of an idea had he been paying attention in class.

After the elevator slowed to a stop, Justin pushed up the gate and stepped out. He could hear some smooth jazz playing from inside the loft, which usually meant Brian was smoking pot in the living room. He'd been smoking a lot more lately, because it helped with the nausea.

As Justin pulled the metal door back, he spotted Brian exactly where he thought he would be - laying on his back atop one of the large cushions on the floor, taking a drag from a joint that looked like it was almost done for.

"Hey, Sunshine." Brian didn't turn his head, and continued gazing up at the rafters as he blew smoke rings into the air.

"Hey," Justin said softly, smiling as he set his bag down on the floor with a soft thump and made his way across the loft to where Brian was. Justin joined him on the floor and Brian offered him the last of the joint, which he didn't take. Brian needed it more than he did.

"Suit yourself...it's good shit."

"I'm sure it is. How are you feeling?"

"Better, now."

"Good. How was work?"

Brian shrugged noncommittally as he exhaled the last of the smoke, which probably meant he'd spent the few hours he was there either half asleep on the sofa in his office, or holed up in his private bathroom, vomiting. Those were the days Justin wished Brian would just come home after his treatment, and stop trying to act like nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

So he was a little surprised when Brian followed the exhalation with, "I didn't go in today."

"What? Why didn't you call me? I could have come home." Justin knew Brian must have been feeling really terrible if he didn't even try to push through making his obligatory appearance at the office, and he felt terrible for having not been here when Brian needed him.

Brian turned his head toward Justin and gave him an incredulous look. "You had class. It would be irresponsible of me to just pull you out…"

"Not that crap again," Justin sighed.

"What? I'm paying for your education. I don't want you skipping class on my account. I was fine. I am fine. I don't need you to play nursemaid 24 hours a day."

Justin decided not to argue, but made a mental note that he would call Ted around 10:00 tomorrow morning to see if Brian had made it into work. He laid back on the cushion beside his partner and let his eyes drift closed again. The older man wrapped an arm around Justin's shoulders and threw his left leg over Justin's right, and they lay there together, tangled in each other's limbs, for a while. It was long enough for Justin to be carried into a deep enough sleep that he felt disoriented for a few seconds when Brian withdrew his arm from behind Justin and limped off in the direction of the bathroom.

Justin could hear Brian retching and spitting from across the loft and over the music, but he knew better than to try to follow him. Brian was nothing if not a proud man, who really didn't want an audience for the most undignified part of the side effects of cancer treatment. So Justin stayed put in the living room, staring at the ceiling as he considered the seriousness of the situation in which they currently found themselves. What if the treatment didn't work? What if the cancer had already spread and they just didn't know it yet? What if it came back next month, or next year? What if Brian was in the unlucky 1% who didn't survive this supposedly simple and straightforward type of cancer. Since when was cancer simple or straightforward anyhow?

He heard the toilet flush, and the water in the sink run, and a few seconds later, Brian slowly descended the steps from the bedroom, his hand on the door frame to steady himself. He continued into the kitchen, where he opened the fridge and took out two bottles of water. He held one out toward Justin in a silent gesture asking if he wanted one as well. Justin shook his head and closed his eyes again.

"You hungry?" Brian asked him as he sat down cross-legged on the floor next to him. "Obviously I'm not, but I could order you something if you want."

Justin lifted his head and blinked at Brian. "Shouldn't I be the one taking care of you?"

Brian gave Justin a warning look and set his water down on a coaster on the coffee table. "Not if you know what's good for you."

The younger man decided to let that drop and change the subject. "Actually, I'm really tired. I think I might just go to bed."

"It's 5:00." Brian raised an eyebrow

"Don't care," Justin mumbled as he pushed himself up off the floor and started toward the bedroom. "You coming?"

"Are you trying to seduce me?"

"No," Justin laughed. "Unless of course you want to be."

Brian gave Justin a look that was somewhere between pained and embarrassed. "I don't think I could get it up anyway. Everything's fried down there. But I could perhaps be talked into giving you a little something…" he grinned as he got up to follow Justin to bed.

They both stayed mostly asleep until the alarm sounded at 7 a.m. the next morning, save for a couple of interludes of nausea in the wee hours of the morning. That was unusual - most of the time, Brian was through with that by bedtime. Usually, their primary nighttime battles centered around insomnia, nightmares, and Brian waking up burning hot and drenched in sweat or freezing cold and shivering.

"Morning," Justin said softly as he leaned over to switch off the alarm before turning back to kiss Brian gently and brush a slightly damp lock of hair back from his forehead.

Brian grunted as he rolled onto his side to face Justin, pulling him into an embrace.

They stayed quiet for about a minute, just breathing together, holding each other, before Brian released Justin and sighed as he rolled onto his back.

"What?" Justin propped his head up on his hand as he studied Brian's face. He could tell the man had something he wanted to say, but seemed to be unsure of how to say it in a way that would allow him to keep up his facade - the "Brian Fucking Kinney is a self-made man who can handle anything life throws at him and doesn't need a damn thing from anybody" facade.

Brian closed his eyes and let silence reign for several seconds before he turned his head toward the younger man and quietly said, "Will you go with me today?"

Two hours later, as he shifted his weight in an uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room of the oncologist's office, Justin fought with conflicting feelings inside his head - relief that Brian was finally letting him take over the duties of transporting him back and forth to treatment, at least for today, and worry about why Brian suddenly wanted him to do that in the first place, after insisting so vehemently over the past few days that he could "do it his own damn self." He was also worried about the seemingly inevitable explosion of anger and petulant mutterings that were likely to come from Brian later today, after he realized how all of this looked and decided he need to save face for some reason.

Brian had barely said a word to Justin after asking him to come here today. The ride over had been a mostly silent one, save for Brian's frequent complaints that Justin didn't know how to properly drive a stick shift, at which Justin had simply rolled his eyes and said nothing. He knew Brian likely just needed something to grouse about to distract himself - to make sure Justin didn't get too complacent in thinking that Brian actually appreciated his help or would ever outwardly admit that.

Over the past couple of weeks, Justin had grown used to that - the small barbs Brian threw at him, usually about inconsequential shit, seemingly to make himself feel like he was the one in control here. Justin also knew Brian well enough to know what that really meant - that his partner was feeling out-of-control and vulnerable. The barbs were fired over the walls that were beginning to fail. But Justin had to pretend he didn't notice that, and it was just as difficult to do that as it had been to not acknowledge that he knew about the cancer at all, back when it was all still some big secret and Brian had supposedly gone on vacation to sunny Spain but came back pale, exhausted, and in obvious pain, with dark circles under his eyes.

Justin was flipping idly through a well-worn magazine when the door to the waiting room opened and Brian walked through it, barely glancing toward Justin as he nodded his head toward double doors at the building's entrance as if to silently beckon Justin to follow. Justin eyed Brian warily as he rose from the chair and walked to the door, staying a few steps behind, not quite sure what the older man's mood was at this moment, and having no past experience to draw on since this was the first time Brian had allowed him to be around immediately after the radiation treatment.

When they got to the car, Justin unlocked it and Brian climbed in slowly, wordlessly, then sank down into the passenger seat. Justin started the car and drove toward the loft, stealing furtive glances at Brian every so often. Most of the time, the older man's eyes were closed, and the fingers of his right hand were pinching the bridge of his nose. Brian didn't make any comments about Justin's driving on the way home.

The first place Brian went when they arrived back at the loft was the bathroom. In fact, he'd practically run in there as soon as Justin got the door open. Justin gave him his privacy at first. The noises coming from the bathroom were of the usual variety, so Justin sat out in the living room, trying to distract himself with his sketchbook. Eventually, the noises stopped. Justin kept sketching, and the light scratching of his pencil against the paper was the only audible sound in the loft for more than 15 minutes before Justin muttered to himself, "Fuck this," and decided that he was going in there, Brian's reaction be damned.

Justin climbed the three steps to the bedroom, then took three more strides to the frosted glass sliding door that divided the bathroom from the bedroom. He paused for a moment, his hand on the door, listening. All he could hear was silence on the other side. Taking a deep breath and steeling his resolve, Justin slid the door open slowly and looked in.

His gaze settled on Brian sitting on the floor next to the shower, knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, and the side of his face pressed against the shower door, as if he was relishing its cool quality against his reddened cheek. His eyes were closed, and his white T-shirt clung to him, wet with perspiration, as his chest rose and fell with deep, heavy breaths.

"Brian," Justin said softly as he knelt next to his partner and gently laid a hand on his shoulder.

The older man apparently hadn't noticed Justin had even entered the room, and startled at the touch, opening his eyes and raising his gaze to meet Justin's. Hazel met baby blue with a look Justin couldn't quite read - he wasn't sure if it was humiliation or hurt.

"Are you okay?" Justin wasn't sure how to address this version of Brian, so he settled for that.

Brian just looked at him, his expression unreadable, his eyes twitching just slightly as he stared directly into Justin's - one and then the other, over and over, almost as if he was searching for something there.

"How can I help?" It was simple. Straightforward. Justin didn't know what the fuck to do here. How to navigate this situation without transforming his partner from the softer, slightly exposed version that currently sat before him into the sardonic, indignant version that had been so prevalent over the past few weeks, particularly any time Justin tried to help Brian through what seemed to be a tough moment. He needed Brian to tell him what to do here. How to react.

Brian tilted his chin downward and looked at the floor, his shoulders slumping forward as he exhaled, as if he was collapsing in on himself.

When Brian looked up again, Justin could see that his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

"Just be here," he said simply, his voice almost a whisper as he reached for Justin's hand and grasped it, hard, as if clinging to a lifeline.

Justin reached out and wrapped his lover into a tight embrace, as a tear escaped from one of his own eyes. He let out a shaky breath as he pulled Brian closer, gripping him like he never wanted to let him go, as if Justin depended on Brian for his own life - his own breath. And he guessed in a way, he did. They both did, in their own ways.

The words were spoken quietly, but they echoed in Justin's head and in his heart.

"Just be here."


	2. Normalcy

Counting down the days until Brian's final radiation treatment was like counting down to normalcy - at least, as normal as their life together ever had been or could be. At the very least, it would be an end to the runaway roller coaster ride of the last six weeks. Life had been speeding through a shitload of twists and turns, dragging a breathless Justin and Brian along for the white-knuckled ride as they both struggled to make sense of the scenery flying by.

To Justin, it all started with Brian deciding to go to Ibiza without him, shouting at him that they weren't fucking married, and acting very strange in the office that day. Of course, Brian's odd, explosive-yet-instantly-reticent manner while Justin stood there, gobsmacked, hurt and confused, in Brian's office suddenly made a lot more sense a week later, after Justin overheard Dr. Rabinowitz leaving a message on Brian's machine. To Brian, it had started the day Vic died, when he'd hooked up with a trick who happened to be a doctor. Never in his life had Justin been more thankful that Brian primarily dealt with uncomfortable emotions through sex. If it hadn't been for that, well… Justin didn't really want to entertain that thought.

Now, here they were, on a Friday in mid-March, snuggled up in bed together, the clock reading 6:57. Three more minutes until it would be time to get up and get ready to head to the oncologist's office for one last early morning radiation appointment. Justin was staring at Brian when the older man opened his eyes and smiled a little.

"Hey."

"Hey, yourself." Justin traced a lazy path with his left index finger around Brian's chest. "Last day...can you believe it?"

"It feels like it's been an eternity," Brian sighed. "Thank god it's almost over."

Justin's fingers continued a winding path over Brian's abdomen, slowly working their way down toward the waistband of the sweatpants Brian had been wearing to bed for the past month and a half. His fingers almost made it to their intended destination before Brian grabbed his wrist and pulled Justin's hand back upward.

Justin breathed out as he rolled onto his back, weaving his fingers into Brian's. Brian still wouldn't let Justin touch him, or even see him, not in that way...not since the surgery. Well, really, not since the night Justin had come home from Debbie's and found the loft empty, and a couple of hours later Brian had stumbled into the loft in some kind of unidentifiable haze that didn't seem to come from alcohol or drugs, his eyes full of what looked to Justin like fear. He refused to talk about it. He'd also refused sex, refused a blow job, and slept practically on the edge of the bed that night, as if he was trying to put as much distance as possible between Justin and himself. Justin assumed it had something to do with Vic's death - he knew that Vic had been an important influence in Brian's life when he was younger and still trying to figure out what it meant to be a gay man in this world.

Of course, Justin now knew exactly what had been going on that night, and all of the nights afterward when Justin had been afraid that Brian was bored with him or didn't want him anymore. It wasn't about Vic at all - it was about the fact that Brian was feeling exposed and uncertain about the storm that was brewing in his body. Justin now assumed that perhaps Brian been afraid that Justin would find the lump too. Justin wondered if it had been painful - not just mentally, but physically. He hadn't asked. It was a moot point now.

And now, here they were, lying in bed holding hands and nothing more. Justin wanting to touch Brian's body and then make love in the shower like they had done so many other mornings, and knowing that his partner would close the bathroom door again this morning, just as he had been every single time he'd gone in there for any reason for the past six weeks - his subtle way of telling Justin he wanted to be alone.

Justin had to let go of Brian's hand so he could turn off the alarm when it sounded at 7:00. He didn't have an opportunity to grab ahold of it again, because when he rolled back over, Brian was already climbing out of bed, then grabbing a pair of jeans and a button-up shirt out of the closet. He turned to look at Justin over his shoulder. "Do you need the bathroom for a few minutes?"

Justin shook his head and settled back down onto his pillow as Brian went into the bathroom and closed the door.

The shower turned on shortly after, and the sound of water spattering against the tile floor and the glass walls of the shower filtered into the bedroom through the closed door. Justin wanted nothing more than to open that door and join his lover in the shower, even if all he did was wash Brian's back. Justin wasn't sure what to do in order to prove to Brian that he didn't give a shit about scars and prosthetics.

It probably wouldn't matter what he did, anyhow, because the root of the matter was that Brian Fucking Kinney's entire identity was wrapped up in his manhood, both physically and psychologically. And Brian Fucking Kinney didn't know how to deal with what had happened. What was still happening.

Justin was trying to help his partner deal with it in the only way he thought Brian might accept or understand - continuing to try to prove to Brian that he still wanted him, physically. That he still thought his lover's body was perfection, surgical scars and plastic balls be damned. That was exactly what he'd been trying to do this morning as his fingers had begun to follow the thin trail of dark hair downward from Brian's navel and slip under the waistband of the sweatpants...before Brian had stopped him yet again.

Touch - and sex - had always been the primary language of Brian and Justin's relationship, so in a way this felt like they'd suddenly lost their voices.

When Brian finally slid open the bathroom door, he crossed the bedroom quickly and went down the three steps toward the kitchen without so much as a glance at Justin, who was still lying naked in their bed.

At this point, Justin wasn't sure when they'd get their voices back.

Ten minutes later, after Justin had showered, alone, he found his lover sitting at the kitchen table, picking at a blueberry muffin and sipping a cup of coffee. There was another, full cup sitting across from him, and a second plate with a muffin for Justin.

"Oooh, straight up carbs for breakfast," Justin said. "Who are you and what did you do with Brian?"

"Eh, it doesn't really matter much." Brian shrugged. "I'm sure I won't be digesting much of it."

This brand of dark humor was another way Brian was dealing with the highly uncomfortable situation they'd both been thrown into by his cancer diagnosis. It seemed to make Brian feel better, somehow, so Justin put up with it, even though most of the time it only made him even more uncomfortable.

Nonetheless, Justin tried to lighten the mood by saying, "So, how do you want to celebrate?"

"What?" Brian set his coffee cup down and picked a small piece off the side of the muffin with his fingers before looking up at Justin.

"Being done with radiation - how do you want to celebrate? We could go out…" Justin let his voice trail off as he watched Brian roll the small piece of muffin around between his finger and thumb.

"I think we both know how I'll be celebrating," Brian scoffed before finally tossing the bite of blueberry muffin into his mouth, swallowing it before continuing. "Spending even more quality time in the bathroom with my dear friend John before taking yet another three-hour nap in the middle of the afternoon like a fucking toddler."

Brian's acerbic wit was definitely still intact.

Neither of them said much after that. They'd driven to the oncologist's office in the suburbs in complete silence. When Justin had tried to turn on the radio, Brian had quickly turned it back off before turning his head to look out the window again with an audible sigh.

Justin wanted to know what Brian was thinking, but he also knew that if Brian wanted him to know, he would tell him without being asked.

Each appointment only took an hour - most of which, Brian had once told him, was usually spent getting Brian into the proper position to make sure they didn't accidentally fry his kidneys instead of radiating the lymph nodes in his pelvic area, in hopes it would keep the cancer from returning. Soon, they were walking back out of the office.

After they got in the car, Justin grabbed his partner's hand and gave it a squeeze. He felt a responding pressure from Brian before they had to let go so Justin could drive them back to the loft. About halfway there, Brian broke the silence.

"I'm sorry. I know, sorry's bullshit. But I am."

Justin knitted his brows together as he looked at Brian, confused and a bit taken aback. "You don't have anything to be sorry about," he said simply. And it was the truth. Yes, there were a lot of things that had frustrated Justin over the past month and a half, but he knew that Brian was only acting in the best way he knew how, and as far as Justin was concerned, Brian had nothing to apologize for.

Brian took a deep breath before answering. "For turning your life upside down, too."

"I told you, we're partners, we have an agreement."

"Yeah, but you had no way of knowing that agreement would include this."

"I didn't care what it included. I still don't. It wasn't conditional. I'm here because I want to be. Because I love you."

Brian apparently had nothing to say to that, and spent the rest of the ride home staring out the window, never looking back over at Justin. But Justin had noticed when Brian roughly swiped at his cheeks with the back of his hands once or twice, and that his breathing seemed a little uneven. Justin knew what was happening here, and he also knew that it was pure coincidence and inconvenience that it was happening in the car, right now, with Justin mere inches away, and that this was something Brian preferred to do in private, if he allowed himself to do it at all. So Justin tried to give Brian his privacy by turning on the radio. This time, Brian let it play.

The scene at the loft played out exactly as Brian had predicted earlier that day. Justin was thankful he didn't have class on Fridays, which meant he could join Brian for his afternoon nap. Debbie had also told him she'd cover his shift at the diner that evening, so he and Brian could spend the entire day together, doing whatever you do to celebrate the end of cancer treatment. Justin still wasn't sure what exactly that was, but he was content to let his partner lead the way.

A couple of hours later, Justin and Brian lay in bed, the younger man spooning the older from behind, even though their size difference meant this particular arrangement didn't make much sense. But whatever, Justin made it work. His arms were wrapped around Brian's shoulders, and he could feel the soft rise and fall of his lover's chest with each breath. He knew Brian was awake, because his soft snore had long ago given way to the barely audible wheeze from the deviated septum he refused to have remediated, insisting that it bothered Michael and Justin more than it bothered him.

After a few more minutes of holding each other in the silence, Brian shifted in Justin's arms and rolled over to face him. Brian looked like he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure how to say it. Justin could see the discomfort building as Brian took a few more deep breaths before finally choking out two words: "Thank you."

Justin responded by pulling Brian as close to him as possible, pressing their bare chests together as he laid his head in the crook of Brian's shoulder and whispered, "I know."

By Wednesday, things were starting to fall more into their normal pattern for Justin and Brian - that is, the normal that was theirs before the cancer. Brian going to work, and Justin going to school, and then to the diner for an evening shift so he could pay Daphne his half of the rent for the apartment he'd barely seen in the past several weeks.

It was around 10 p.m. when Justin came home and found Brian in bed. Justin knew the fatigue wasn't letting go as easily or as quickly as the nausea had, but Brian insisted that he was so far behind at Kinnetik that he didn't have time to keep working the half days his doctor had recommended for the next couple of weeks. So full days it was, in true Brian Fucking Kinney fashion, pushing through and masking his discomfort with his usual aplomb.

After Justin had changed and showered to wash the smell of tuna melts and fries out of his skin and hair, he pulled back the sheet to climb into bed, and was surprised to see that his lover was naked. No more sweatpants. No more shorts. Just Brian. Awake. Exposed.

Justin looked into Brian's eyes, noticing the slight trepidation that seemed to lurk beneath the surface. Brian took Justin's hand and slowly guided it downward until it reached a small, faint red line on the older man's groin. Justin held his breath as his fingers lightly traced the scar.

"Does it hurt?" Justin said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Not anymore." Brian's hushed tone matched Justin's. "It's kind of numb, actually."

Justin knew the feeling. It was how the scar on his temple felt as well. You could feel its slightly raised surface with your fingers, but the skin underneath failed to notice the touch.

"So," Brian breathed. "There it is."

"It's a part of you now." Justin leaned down and pressed his lips gently to the scar in a tender kiss.

"Yeah...I guess it is."

It took a few more nights before the two of them found themselves sharing a series of passionate kisses on the bed - yes, things were definitely getting back to normal now. Justin reached up and pinned Brian's wrists to the mattress in a show of domination, but Brian shook his head and quickly flipped over so that their positions were reversed. Justin noticed that Brian wasn't quite ready yet, in a manner of speaking, when he reached for the condom and the lube, but Justin hoped that things would heat up quickly once they were in the right position. He was wrong, however, and only a few seconds had passed before Brian's body slid down Justin's back and he moved to sit on the side of the bed, his head in his hands, before reaching for a cigarette.

"Brian-"

"Don't say anything."

Justin wasn't listening.

"Look, I'm sure it's just a temporary malfunction." He sat up to rub his partner's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "It takes time for your body to heal itself and for you to regain your strength. Be patient. Everything will be up and running in no time."

"Thanks for not saying anything."

After Brian had finished his cigarette - Justin really wished he would give up smoking, especially now - they laid back down on the bed together, their arms and legs tangled, as intimately connected as they could be at the moment.

The next morning, Justin had made up his mind that he was going to help Brian get past this in any way he could - and be okay with whatever the outcome was. Only he wasn't quite sure how to do that. He'd noticed that Brian's gaze had seemed far away, as if he was someplace else for brief moments, the night before. Justin didn't know what that was about. He also didn't know if the problem was a physical block or a mental one.

If it was physical, then the likely solution would be drugs - but how do you tell Brian Fucking Kinney that he might need said drugs? On the other hand, if it was mental...what was it? Was it fear? Anxiety? Inadequacy?

It turned out the answer was none of the above. Three days later, they'd agreed to meet up at Babylon, once Justin's shift at the diner was finished and Brian had given up the day's battle of trying to unbury himself from the seemingly self regenerating pile of folders and paperwork and proofs that had kept accumulating on his desk during the better part of the last two months. Justin had only been in the club for a few minutes when Brian charged onto the dance floor and swept Justin up into a kiss, showing off the bulge in his jeans. They ran together to the back room for a blow job that Justin wasn't sure if he owed to the Chinese herbalist or to God or to Joan Kinney. It didn't matter. He'd take it. They could finally speak again.

Two weeks later, they sat on the floor of the loft, sharing a joint and feeding each other takeout, laughing together about some ridiculous story that likely wouldn't have been anywhere near as funny if they were sober. Celebrating Brian being released from his oncologist's care until his routine checkup the next year. When they'd check to make sure everything was still normal.

But for right now, it was.


End file.
